Let's hope it doesn't happen to Devin Williams.
The Yankees’ hair policy has been a topic of debate for years, and honestly, I’m all for it because I love tradition. The Yankees are baseball’s version of a classic black tuxedo—clean, sharp, timeless. No names on the back of the jerseys. No wild hair or unruly beards. Just a uniform, in every sense of the word. Some fans adore it, others despise it. And let’s be real—there are definitely players who can’t stand it either.
Now, here’s the thing: hair matters. You think it doesn’t, but it does. It’s psychological. Some guys wear their hair like a badge of honor, like it holds some kind of baseball superpower. When a player walks into Yankee Stadium with a full-on lumberjack beard and walks out looking like he just enlisted in the military, it does something to him. Maybe he doesn’t pitch the same. Maybe he doesn’t hit the same. Maybe he looks in the mirror and doesn’t even recognize himself. It’s like stripping Superman of his cape and telling him to get over it. That’s not how this works.
Take Brian Wilson, for example. His beard wasn’t just facial hair—it was a whole personality. It was a movement. The guy looked like he belonged in a biker gang, and it worked for him. When the Yankees considered signing him, Brian Cashman didn’t even hesitate: “You can cross him off the list.” Why? Because Wilson refused to shave. That’s how serious this policy is.
And then there’s Don Mattingly. In 1991, the Yankees actually fined and benched him until he cut his hair. Imagine that. A guy could be batting .400, but if his sideburns got a little too ambitious, he was riding the pine. Andrew McCutchen later admitted that the rule made him uncomfortable during his time with the Yankees. Joba Chamberlain, a Yankee from 2007 to 2013, straight-up said he got kicked out of the dugout once and told to go shave.
So here we are, and history repeats itself. Enter Williams, the latest player to take on the Yankees’ razor-wielding tradition. He showed up to spring training with a beard, looking like his normal self. And then? Poof. By the time he started throwing, he was clean-shaven and looking like a different guy entirely. “I feel naked,” he admitted, according to Randy Miller of the Newark Star-Ledger. And honestly, I believe him.
But here’s what worries me: Williams will play ball, but what I don’t want is for him to lose his power. You know what I mean? The Yankees front office will roll their eyes and say, “It’s just superstition, get over it.” But that’s the thing—players are superstitious. They believe in this stuff. And when you strip them of something that makes them feel like themselves, you risk messing with their confidence, their swagger, their mojo.
Look, I get the tradition. I respect it. But baseball is a game built on rituals, weird habits, and unexplained magic. Some guys eat the same meal before every game. Some won’t step on the foul line. Some swear their batting gloves have good luck. And some? Some believe their hair is part of what makes them great. Sometimes, even the Yankees need to bend a little. Otherwise, what happens when a guy loses his beard and takes the mound feeling like a shell of his former self? That’s a risk no team should want to take.
Let's see what happens.
